You Don't Have To Do This Alone
by Kurokia
Summary: Shift's capable of handling the Capital Wasteland on her own, but she's glad that he followed her out of the vault. Even if she'll never admit it. Butch/FLW. Spoilers are guaranteed.
1. Prologue: Shift

Because I have to, I do not own Fallout 3 or any of its characters. Unfortunately.

**Prologue  
**Shift  
_(Butch's POV)_

Shift.

Shift. What a name, eh?

Of course, her father didn't name her Shift. Nah, I'm pretty sure no parents were cool enough to actually _name _their child Shift.

No, she got it because of her reputation back in Vault. She was sneaky. Crafty. Clever. _Shifty. _Shift was never a goody-two-shoes girl. Not exactly anyways. I mean, yeah, the kid always sucked up to her dad. And Mr. Brotch. And Officer Gomez. Yet she had this scary bad ass side to her whenever you pissed her off. Or whenever she wanted somethin'. She had this… thing about stuff that she wanted. She just… took it, y'know?

Seriously, I have no idea why. I mean, the kid had this talent for talkin' to people. She could make anyone do anythin' for her. They just gave her whatever she wanted. It's like she could just read their minds. Shift could just see through people. So, I wasn't all that surprised when she was picked as a Vault Loyalty Inspector. 'Course, she just conned her daddy into training her to be a doctor…

But, anyways. So when I found her tryna pick the lock on her father's office door, I asked her why. "I don't know." She would shrug. "You know, I could talk my way out of things all the time. But that's kind of sleazy." And she continued on with her own business, knowin' I wouldn't rat her out. She was too much like a Tunnel Snake, and Tunnel Snakes don't do that to each other. Not that I would ever let her join. If Wally wasn't such a bitch... eh, never mind. So I walked away.

She also didn't like figure of authority. Hell, she even gave her dear dad a piece of her mind whenever she was pissed, like when he got on her for starting a fight with Wally, which left an ugly piece of evidence on her cheek. I didn't feel bad though. I think Wally got it worse.

When I heard of what she was doing, I was amazed. So, the twerp finally grew some balls, eh? Well, if she was leavin', so was I.

Clad in nothing but my vault suit, I sprinted for the Vault door. Lookin' forward to nothing except the sky I've always dreamed about. And, yeah. Maybe her.


	2. Chapter 1: How'd we get here, anyways?

Because I have to, I do not own Fallout 3 or any of its characters. Unfortunately.

**Chapter 1  
**How'd we get here, anyways?  
_(Shift's POV)_

I collapsed to my knees the moment that the light hit me.

My eyes literally burned.

No matter how much I sunk in to the dirt or covered my eyes with my arm, they burned. Melted. It felt like my skin was smoking. Struggling, I forced myself up onto shaky legs.

"Jesus!"

I screamed, leaping to my right and hitting a rock and stumbling down until my face hit the blazing ground. I opened my eyes and only succeeded in burning them once more.

"What's wrong, girl? I thought you'd be happy to see me."

Oh, no. That better not be who I think it is. Finally allowing my eyes to adjust to the light, I stared forward. Boots. Up. Vault jumpsuit? Aw, man. Further. Outstretched arms. Oh no. Dare I?

Ugh. Butch.

"Come 'ere. Give Butchie a hug."

So, I got up. Looked him square in the face. There was a split moment of indecisiveness before I settled on giving a simple death glare to Butch. Butch laughed at my look, and instead gestured to my attire with a self-satisfied smirk. "Nice jacket." I looked down, realizing what I was wearing: his jacket. Stupid Tunnel Snakes with their stupid warm jackets. I pressed my thumbs together and replied, "The vault was cold. I needed more than just my vault suit." I was actually only half-lying. The vault was chilly and, despite what the coat represented, the jacket actually did have a fluffy coating on its inside.

Butch's smirk grew, and he reached forward and grabbed the bottom of my jacket with his fingers. "It's kind of big on you. I like it." I pulled away from his grasp and crossed my arms in a way that must have looked defensive because Butch now had a full on shit-eatting grin on his face.

"How did you even escape?" He shrugged, walking over to a rock and squatting down. "The same way you did. Through the damn door. How'd you think I got out?" I snorted, digging my boots into the sand to stop the urge to be snide. "No, I meant how did you get to the door that quick?" I shoved my hands in my pockets, looking up at the sky, realizing that it could swallow me up whole.

"Right after you left, some officer asked if I'd seen you. I wasn't about to rat you out after what you did for me, so I said no. He told me what you did, and after he left, I made sure my mom was okay before I ran for it." I must have given him a confused look. "I wasn't about to let Poindexter escape into the Wastes and be left behind."

I pondered on this. "And you… _survived_?" He tilted his head and sneered, but I was being serious. I'd barely busted out of that _hole_ without being choked to death by radroaches, officers, that dumb ass Overseer, and Amata. How did _he_ survive?

"Wait." Butch stopped building a pile of dirt with his boots. "If you didn't know I was escaping, what the _hell_ did you think I was doing?"

"Gettin' grain from the diner to feed the oncomin' radroaches." Was his sarcastic retort. "I thought you were goin' to see Jonas. Until I heard what happened to him, 'course." I found myself at a loss for words with a lump in my throat blocking the bravery and talent for speech that I've developed over the years. "Yeah." Was my lame response. Butch gave me a meaningful look, like he meant to say something, but he shook it away with a turn of his head and a sigh.

"So," I breathed, clapping my hands together and restoring my confidence. "are we going to stare at dirt all day, or what?" Butch laughed cheaply. "You think I'm goin' with you?" I frowned. "You're afraid of radroaches."

"...Fine. Twerp."

"Jerk."


	3. Chapter 2: Stuck in the past

Because I have to, I do not own Fallout 3 or any of its characters. Unfortunately.

**Chapter 2  
**Stuck in the past  
_(Shift's POV)_

Since I was thirteen, I was trying to find ways to get topside. I used to sneak into the classroom with a flashlight and go into Mr. Brotch's bookcase. Almost every book in those shelves contained something about the Wasteland, things that even Mr. Brotch didn't teach us. Had it been a page or a paragraph, I studied those books for hours. Thinking back on it, I'm extremely grateful that no one caught me. Don't get me wrong, I was never afraid to get caught sneaking or stealing - I could always talk my way out of things much too easily. The embarrassing part would be that I was sneaking into a classroom to get something that was so ridiculously _easy _to get my hands on during the day.

Even though part of me never wanted anyone to know what I was doing, another part of me wanted someone to happen upon my studying. I just wanted a chance to get caught reading with the desire to escape, just for the chance of someone who felt the same way. So, one day, I brought Amata with me. Amata had always been fond of freedom - she wanted to do things her way. The thing was, her way was the Overseer's way. No matter how much you over analyzed Amata, from the way she talked, to how she walked, she liked orderliness and stability. Not to mention, she was a complete pansy when it came to getting in trouble.

Needless to say, she hadn't exactly approved of my "_studying_". She probably only scanned the page before suggesting that we caught some sleep before someone caught us. I didn't try to change her mind; Amata was as stubborn as a mule. I instead walked her back to her room in silence, recapping on the information I had memorized. Amata stared at me frequently on our way back. It wasn't difficult to tell that I was probably frowning; Amata's reaction to the books unsettled me. I had expected it, there was no doubt that she would probably shake her head and try to get back before her dad or the security guards started making their early morning routes around the vault. But the optimistic side of me told me that for once in her life, she would understand that there was more to life than rules and safety.

We departed with a whispered good night. I wanted to walk back to the classroom one more time. I checked my Pip-Boy, making sure that there was enough time to sort the books back and grab some of my things from Dad's clinic that I had left that afternoon. I ended up neglecting my things in Dad's clinic - he could just give them to me in the morning - and instead became engrossed in yet another book of Mr. Brotch's that I had apparently skipped.

"What are you doing up this early, Poindexter? Shouldn't you be sleeping so you can pay attention in class today?" I turned hastily, knowing the voice of the taunter and yet still managing to be stunned. I must have looked like a deer in front of headlights, because Butch laughed heavily and stood beside my desk, eying the book in my hands. "Yeah," I said lamely as I stood up, leaving the book open on the desk. "I should." I walked to the doorway before looking back. Butch was sitting down, admiring the text. He looked at me and shook his head, turning back to the book. I walked to my room, with one distressing thought in my mind. _Butch is the only person in the vault that sees things the way I do._

Now I was eying Butch the way he had the book. He was sipping Nuka-Cola, one leg bent and being used for an elbow rest, the other laid out on the broken concrete before us. The Nuka-Cola machine next to us was rusty and practically destroyed, no thanks to my desire of liquid in my throat and my baseball bat. His breathing seemed uneven and his eyes were roaming. No doubt he didn't trust just sitting here. Hell, I didn't either. But this is as far as I could go without a drink in this inferno, and this could be the only time we get a drink in a hours.

Still, this was better than being cooped up in a hole and being beaten to death over something that I had nothing to do with.

Remind me to thank Dad for giving me a reason to bust out of the vault the next time I see him. _If _I ever get to see him again.

Waking up one morning to find my beloved father gone, my best friend freaked, and almost everyone I've ever known my entire life hating me. Damn, my life is fucked up. Actually, my life was always fucked up since the start. Life in the vault was hell, with Butch and his new found gang of bullies at age 6, the Overseer hating my guts for reasons I hadn't figured out until I was twelve, and stuck with the same damn people for the rest of my life. Or, so I thought.

I knew I was going to break out since I was twelve. Not because I really wanted to, or because I didn't like living in an underground hole, but because if there was one thing I was forever sure of, it was that I didn't belong there. As in, I wasn't born there. Everyone made a point of me being born in the vault. _"Aw, you're such a cutie. Why I remember the day you first arrived here. You were absolutely adorable!", _or _"Why, I remember you're father. He was so happy when you first arrived."._ No one ever talked about Amata's birth, or Freddie's or Richelle's rather unexpected one. No one ever went over how cute Christine was or how Susie was difficult when it came to changing diapers. Only me.

Dad, on the other hand, never talked about me. He rather kept off the subject, only mentioning it if I did first. And whenever he brought out the baby pictures, there was a difference. The smallest things I noticed in my baby pictures and my mother's pictures. The lighting was slightly off, and I reckoned if the lighting in the vault went on strong for nineteen years, I was willing to bet that they would still be the same when my mother was alive. The metal wasn't in it's best condition as in my baby pictures, and God knows that the Overseer wouldn't let the walls be slightly rusty, let alone a little dented. Plus, no one from the vault was in my mother's pictures.

But I think the most noticeable thing was that no one ever talked about my mom. Whenever they mentioned a person who had passed away, every adult would reminisce on memories with them. But whenever someone looked at me, the most they could say was, _"I wish your mother was still here. She was a very pleasant lady to be around."_ and they would immediately scuffle away. When I was younger, it hurt my feelings. It made me feel as if my mother wasn't nice or liked enough to even be worth thinking about. I never recalled a thing about my mom, and it was highly unlikely that I did since I never even saw her face. So the memories my dad told me about I clung on to. Interestingly enough, my best ideas came when I looked at those pictures. Actually, I'd thought of these points when I was looking at them.

Unlike now. Now, I was sitting on an unfamiliar sidewalk with my childhood enemy, sipping Nuka-Cola at an uneven rate, eyes darting in every direction. The sun - the blasted _sun_ - was making it difficult to think for every minute that passed. Butch stood up and stretched, wincing. "...Should we find some place to chill?" I shrugged, placing the bottle down in my lap. I didn't think my stomach could handle any more.

I guided my finger along the rim of the bottle's neck. In all truth, I was afraid. Timid to try. I felt so out of place here. Everything - the sun, the sand, the rocks - seemed so out of my league. Back in the vault, I knew everything. I knew everything about everybody. I had the ability to do things my way, the way I saw fit. I could wrap people around my fingers and do anything without so much as a warning look. But people are probably different out here. Hardened. Quick to make mistakes so they could live for another hour.

I was finally free, and I didn't want any of it.

Where is that thirteen year old girl I used to know? The girl that knew everything about the true Earth she'd read about? Not the vault, not the underground shelter that radroaches used as a feeding center, but the actual ground she'd wished to see all her life, and not the cold, hard metal that stopped her from being truly happy? What happened to that girl that was so prepared for everything and so sure of herself?

I guess I'd have to find her later.

Butch was already moving.


	4. Chapter 3: Discoveries

Because I have to, I do not own Fallout 3 or any of its characters. Unfortunately.

**Chapter 3  
**Discoveries**  
**_(Shift's POV)_

It wasn't very long before we ran into a sign that said "MEGATON" in yellow letters and an arrow pointing us where we needed to go. "What the hell is a Megaton?" Butch asked.

"Hopefully somewhere that has a bed." Did they even have beds out here? _Obviously, _I snarl at myself. What else would they sleep on?

When it first enters my vision, I almost can't believe it. It's just a huge hunk of metal that's thrown together, but there's a man sitting near it and a robot standing outside, and _oh_, there's civilized people out here. My feet must have picked up because all of a sudden I'm jogging towards the scrap pile.

The robot takes notice to my approach and begins with its automated message. "Welcome to… Megaton. The bomb is perfectly safe… we… promise."

"Did it just say bomb?" I sputter as what I can only assume are the doors to Megaton begun to loosen themselves from the ground.

"Damn, this place is locked down tight." Butch mutters as the two doors reveal the actual door to Megaton.

When we first enter, a man with a gun strapped to his back approaches us. I could feel myself tense as I realized with a quick glance around that pretty much everyone here was packing heat.

The man's voice snaps me out of my daze. "God damn… I haven't seen one of those vault suits in a long, long time." The man reaches for my hand and I shake his. "Name is Lucas Simms: Town mayor and sheriff. Welcome to Megaton. If you need any help, just ask me." I allow myself to show a thankful grin, despite my hesitance. "Name is Shift. His is Butch." I reply, nodding at Butch. Lucas nods and sizes us up. "What are you two doing here?"

"Actually, we're looking for someone. Have you happened to see a man with graying hair, a bit middle-aged? He's my father." Lucas shakes his head doubtfully. "Nope, 'fraid not. You'd probably have an easier time asking Moriarty; he's usually the one to deal with visitors. Just be careful around him, he's not exactly trustworthy." I quickly thank Lucas before tugging Butch down towards the crater.

"It fuckin' stinks – Jesus, is that a cow? Aren't they supposed to be like, black and white, or some shit?"

I briefly chuckle to myself. "Probably all of the radiation." Butch warily looks at the bomb as we pass it.

"Hey, Shift?"

"Hmm?"

"If… When you see your dad again, what are you gonna say to him?"

"I don't know – probably yell at him for leaving me behind when he left." I reply without missing a beat. Butch doesn't say anything back, so I consider the conversation to be effectively dropped. I can't bring myself to think about that now. If I do, I might start having second thoughts, and I can't start doing that.

The moment that we enter Moriarity's, it's easy to tell that it's a bar; it reeks of alcohol – something that I've never taken a liking to. Butch takes a deep breath in and breathes out, "Ha, smells like my kind of place." He hurried over to a stool just as a man with white hair settled on the other side of the counter. He flashes a welcoming smile before announcing, "Colin Moriarity, at your service."

I smiled to myself. Finally, I was going to get some answers. "Shift." I offered with a bright smile. "I'm looking for my father. He has graying hair and he's middle-aged. Have you seen him?" Moriarity's eyes widened before he sputtered, "Let's go to my office."

Once in his office, Moriarity closed the door behind us. "You're a persistent little thing, aren't you? It's been a long time since I last saw you." I quirked an eyebrow. "And when exactly was last time..?" He shrugged. "When you were a tiny little lad. I still remember the day that your dad showed up here with you in his arms. But you're not here for memories, are you? Your dad came and left here a while ago."

"Woah, slow down. When I was a baby?" He nodded. "Have you ever lived in a vault before? Specifically Vault 101?" He shook his head and laughed. "I've seen the brainwashing that they do down there. Say, you don't think that you were born in one of those loony dens, do you?" I chuckled and shook my head. "So I assume that you know what your dad was planning to do? He didn't tell me much, but he did tell me where he was going. Something about going to Galaxy News Radio."

"Galaxy News Radio?" I asked. He nodded eagerly. "It's a loudmouth radio station that's located in the ruins of the D.C. area. A guy named Three Dog runs it." I nodded and began to walk towards the door of Moriarity's office. "I think I know everything that I need to know. Thanks again."

When I made my way back to the counter, Butch was nursing a drink and looking pretty lonely. He seemed to perk up a bit when I sat down on the stool next to him. "Did you know that they don't use dollars out here? They use bottle caps. I had to hassle the bartender just to get a drink." Butch pointed his finger in front of him, and when I looked, I couldn't believe my eyes. He, she, _it_ looked like a zombie. I know that I'd seen his kind of condition somewhere in my father's old medicine books. Something about an extreme exposure to radiation, but it was totally different when you see the condition in the flesh. "Yeah. It wasn't all that fun to stare at while you were chattin' it up, either. Have any idea what happened to your dad?"

"Uh huh. Went to some place called Galaxy News Radio." Butch took a sip of his drink before asking "Are we headed there anytime soon?" I shook my head hastily. "Nah. We need a little time to… adjust. Get some money. Some more clothes. Some guns." Butch smirked. "What? Not daddy's girl anymore?"

"I don't think that I ever really was, Butch." I yawned and stretched my arms up. "Yep. We might be here for a while."

* * *

SN: Oh god, I haven't updated in like a year. I've been terribly busy with school, but fortunately I'm on Christmas break. I'm excited to get to work on this story again. (: (For those who were following this story previous to this update, I advise you to read chapter one - I changed it just a little bit.)

_Please review, and all of that assorted mess._


	5. Chapter 4: Ambitions

Because I have to, I do not own Fallout 3 or any of its characters. Unfortunately.

**Chapter 4  
**Ambitions**  
**_(Shift's POV)_

We spent our first night in Megaton in the common house. It wasn't the most comfortable sleeping arrangement, but there were beds, and that was all I needed.

When I woke up in the morning, I had to politely refuse breakfast from the residents. Not only did I have a few bruises and radroach bites that I should have treated yesterday, but I also had a strange stomach ache that Butch apparently had too. We made our way to the Megaton clinic and got some medical advice from the doctor there. He informed us that my injuries were minor, and then that we had caught something called the Wasteland Sickness. "It's easy to catch." He said. "The Wasteland was directly hit by the bombs, so the amount of radiation and damage in the area is more severe than other places. Pretty much everyone that comes to the wasteland for the first time catches it. It's minor and shouldn't last for more than a few days, but I'll prescribe some Med-X. It's a quick fix." I thanked him and paid him in cash.

As we walked out, I murmured to Butch, "We need to get started on getting supplies and some bottle caps. We can't keep paying people with cash." Butch nodded ahead of us. "There's a sign that says 'supplies' over there." We both followed the sign until we reached a store called The Craterside Supply.

As we entered, a woman in a blue jumpsuit stopped sweeping the floor and piped up, "Hey! I heard that you two were the two strays from the vault. I haven't seen one of your kind in years!" She hastily shook both of our hands after leaning her broom against a wall. "It's good to meet you. My name is Moira Brown. I run this store, and I'm a bit of a researcher." Her face brightened. "Actually, I'm working on a book about the wasteland, and it'd be amazing if I had a foreword from someone that actually lived in a vault." She rushed over behind her counter and pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil. "Would you mind telling me what life was like in the vault?" Butch slicked back a strand of hair and replied, "It was cramped, dark, and the food sucked. It's fuckin' awesome to be out of there." Moira looked at me expectantly, and I shrugged and nodded my head towards Butch. Moira smiled. "In that case, you're going to love it out here. Actually, I have an armored suit that one of you could wear. It'll keep you from being inconveniently ripped to shreds by something. Actually, how about you two help me out? I need some outside research done that I can't do myself. The work would include pay, of course." I raised my eyebrow. "What kind of pay and work?" Moira shrugged, beginning to write something on her piece of paper. "Dealing with radiation, devices, experiments, reading. That kind of work. But for all of that I could pay you two with caps, medicine, chems – but only if you do a good job." I looked at Butch questioningly, and he nodded. "Sounds like a deal. So, what's this book about?"

"It's going to be called The Wasteland Survival Guide. I mean, the wasteland is a dangerous place to live, and not everyone is an expert on how to survive living in this environment. I don't want to give out any false advice, so I would need to be able to make sure that the information that I give out is actually true, which means that I'd have to go out and research the information myself. The problem with that is that I'm so busy with trading and managing the store that I can't go out myself and actually research like I'd like to. So that's where you two come in." She gestured to us. "Sure, we'll help with this survival guide." I confirmed.

Moira threw a small fist pump into the air. "All right then! I think the first chapter would be really simple, like surviving day to day dangers. We'd research little things, such as where it's safe to find food, how to get rid of radiation, and how to avoid landmines. Which one would you like to do first?" Butch groaned, "Finding the food. I'm literally starving."

"There's an old Super-Duper Mart near here. I need to know if places like that would still contain food and medicine." I nodded. "Sure, we'll check Super-Duper Mart. What's the pay like?"

"Well, the pay would be letting you keep whatever you find. I suspect that there's going to be a lot of food in there, and the medicine that you might find would be awfully important too."

I nodded quickly. "Say, think that you could take a few things off of my hands?"

"Oh, of course!" I ruffled though all of the pockets on my vault suit and putted out an array of things that I knew I wouldn't need: an extra 10mm pistol, a container of BB pellets, a conductor, a pair of glasses, and all of the cash that I had on me. "Hey!" Butch half-heartedly said as I reached into his vault suit and pulled out his wallet. "How'd you know that I kept my wallet there?" I chuckled and responded saying, "You think this is the first time that I've had to find your wallet, Butch? You always put it in the same pocket – so predictable." I emptied out the contents and cocked an eyebrow at Butch. He shrugged defensively. "I'm a barber. How much money do you expect me to make?" I sighed and pushed everything towards Moira. "How much is that?" Moira counted everything up. "About 186 caps. Are you interested in buying anything? Stimpacks? Food? Armor?"

After the whole transaction, we left with a few caps, a few stimpacks, the armored vault suit, a backpack to carry all of my things in, and a little bit of ammo for my 10mm pistol. "I'm assumin' that that gun isn't for me, is it?" I shook my head and tossed my new backpack over my shoulder. "She didn't have much, and the extra gun that I had was a piece of junk. We'll pick up something along the way. Besides, you already have your switchblade." I shrugged off the Tunnel Snakes jacket and handed it to Butch. "Wear this, would you? I want to change into the new vault suit. Be my lookout." I said, dragging Butch behind the store. "Make sure no one tries to creep on me – and that includes you. No creeping while I'm changing." Butch scoffed. "What do you think I am, some kind of pervert?" I held back a retort while I turned around and quickly changed. When I was finished zipping myself up, I spoke again. "Let's head off to Super-Duper Mart, then."

We found Super-Duper Mart Easily enough, thanks to my Pip-Boy. "Shh. My Pip-Boy is picking someone up. I'll shoot, you stab." Butch nodded. One peek around the corner assured me that this was not someone that I could consider a friend. It was a tall, bronzed man with spiky hair. He looked as if he hadn't bathed in a while. "Attack as soon as you see him. Try not to run directly towards him; I can't tell if he has a gun or not."

"Jesus, Shift. I got it. Just tell me when to go." I scoffed. "On go." I counted backwards and shouted, "Go!"

I ran out from the corner that we were hiding behind. I shot out three bullets towards the man's skull, and one of them hit dead on. I was about to thank my dad for the shooting lessons before I realized that there was a woman. I hadn't seen her before, and she had a gun. I leaped behind a pillar in an effort to dodge her bullets. I saw Butch ran past me, and I heard the woman scream painfully. Peeking past the pillar, I saw that Butch had taken the woman down.

I walked over to Butch and the corpse. "Ever kill anything before?" I asked. "Nope." He replied breathlessly. I patted Butch on the back briefly before leaving him to search the bodies. Near the bodies was the body of a normal man. "They killed someone before we came here." I announced. "I got two guns, some ammo, and a few caps. Butch?" I turned and found that he looked a little bit shocked. "You all right?" He nodded. "Come on, we have to search the building."

When we entered Super-Duper Mart, I could already tell that something was off. It was extremely quiet and dark, and Butch and I immediately crouched down, not desiring to be discovered by any other attacker that might have been lurking in the darkness. "Over there." Butch whispered and pointed. There was a moving figure in the darkness. I grabbed Butch's hand and guided him forward until we reached the door to the storage area. We found a few supplies and containers of food in the refrigerator and the boxes in the room. "We still have to find some medicine." I reminded Butch. "I doubt that we'll be able to get out of here without putting up a fight." Butch whispered back.

Instead of replying, I opened the door to the rest of the store and pressed myself against the wall of shelves. Butch and I made our way to the other side of the store, and I could already see that there were at least four other people in here with us. Butch and I looked up at the ceiling simultaneously and I shivered. There were bodies suspended by chains from the ceiling.

I took my gun from its place in my holster and crept forward with Butch following me close behind. I quickly handed him a gun that I had picked up from one of the bodies outside. "On three." On cue we both took our shots. Two people went down easily, and just as I was ready to shoot at the next one, Butch shoved me down behind cover. I heard a storm of shots before I registered what was going on. Someone was shooting a submachine gun, and it wasn't Butch. I popped up from the cover and shot at the first person that I saw. He dropped, and three shots rang out that weren't mine. Our last attacker dropped, and I rushed back to Butch, who was clutching his shoulder.

I kneeled down beside him, almost breathless. Adrenaline was still flowing through me. "Are you okay?" Butch clenched his teeth together. I moved his hand from his shoulder and saw that a bullet had made a quick and clean exit from the muscle in his shoulder. I immediately felt panic run through me. I've never treated a bullet wound before in my life. Until my father left Vault 101, the guns that the security used were never fired. If they were, then it was never heard of by the residents. "_Shit_, Butch. We've got to get you to a doctor." Butch shook his head. "Nah, Shift, we've gotta finish the job." I looked at him in disbelief. "I can handle this." He reinforced.

I quickly ran through options in my head. My first option would be to force Butch to go back to Megaton and visit the clinic. As much relief as that would bring me, Butch would put up a fight, which would most likely end up with us wasting time, a large amount of blood lost on the way there, and would probably end up with Butch just further injuring his shoulder. My second option would be to listen to Butch and continue our search for medicine. Even though this seemed risky, I couldn't help but admit that it would mean that as long as we finished quickly, then Butch would be happy, he'd willingly go to the doctor, and we'd still get paid. I released a sigh, realizing that the defeat of my resolve was inevitable. "Fine. But you have to let me take care of you." Butch rolled his eyes. "Sure thing, Mom."

I rushed over to one of the attackers' bodies and scavenged a strip of cloth from a tank top. I tied the strip of cloth around Butch's wound, which resulted in a hiss from Butch. I helped Butch up, and lead him to the back of the store to what appeared to be the pharmacy. After picking the lock on the door, I brought him to the back of the room and placed him against a stable wall. "I don't want you moving around." I told him. He nodded, but I couldn't help but noticed that his face looked a little pale. The fact that he had just listened to my command and hadn't made a retort frightened me.

As much as I wanted to take care of Butch, I had to make sure that we were finished with our job in a hurry before Butch's condition worsened. Even as I made my way to the counter against a wall, I couldn't help but feel worry overcome me. Out in the Wasteland, this probably happened every day. Some innocent man being shot at – the thought sickened me. I began to tremble as I began to create an image of a man fighting a group of attackers. Slowly my mind began to recognize the man. At first, he was Butch, and I cringed. Then the face of my father appeared, and my hands began to quiver faster. A thousand thoughts assaulted my brain suddenly: was he all right? Where is he? What was he doing right now? I was aware that I had told Butch earlier that we would wait a while before leaving Megaton, but now I wasn't so sure of my decision. A part of me wanted to look my father straight in the eyes and tell him a quick "Fuck you for leaving me to fend for myself," but a larger part of me knew that I would never be able to do that. Regardless of the fact that he hadn't taken me with him when he escaped, he was and still is my father, a person who took care of me on his own. How long could I wait before finding out what happened to my father?

My thoughts were interrupted as a harsh call of "We're back," rung through the room. I froze in my spot. "…something isn't right here." It was the voice of another member of hoodlums that had attacked us earlier, and they were going to find the bodies, and then find _us_.

I rushed over to Butch's side and ordered him to stay put. "Shift," he argued weakly. "No, you're in no condition to help me. I don't need for you to get another injury. I'll load up the robot of there." I gestured to the pod that contained the foreign machine. "It's got to have some sort of weapon on it." I could see Butch mentally struggle with the decision before he sighed. "Be careful, 'kay? The robot won't be able to push you out of the way when a bullet comes soarin' towards ya." I nodded gratefully before rushing over to the computer that sat beside the pod.

Mist was released as the pod opened and revealed the robot. As the robot recited a bunch of technical nonsense, it began to march forward in the direction of the door. I crept behind it, hoping that it would somehow aid me. I smiled as it shot out lasers which killed an attacker. It wasn't a piece of junk after all. I stayed behind the counter as the robot continued its patrol route. Observing the robot lead to a discovery: the robot was pretty bad ass. It only took a few hits from its laser to bring someone down. A quick sweep of the store confirmed what I already knew. The store was now empty of any potential attackers, and it was all thanks to a robot.

I rushed back to Butch and helped him stand up. Leading him out of the pharmacy, I announced, "You know how we were going to chill for a while? Scratch that plan. We're going to find my father."

* * *

SN: Gah, writing fight scenes is not for me at all. I'd appreciate some critiquing on this chapter. I'm also very excited to announce that there should be a chapter in Butch's point of view very soon (hopefully). I'm looking forward to picking through Butch's brain.

_Please review, and all of that assorted mess._


	6. Flashback 1: Hair Dye

Because I have to, I do not own Fallout 3 or any of its characters. Unfortunately.

SN: These flashbacks aren't necessarily an important part to the story, but I'm compelled to write them just to get a better feel for Shift as a character. Anyways, there should be more of these, so be expecting them. This particular flashback is set when Shift was seventeen.

**Flashback 1  
**Hair Dye  
_(Shift's POV)_

"Em, didn't I raise you better than pulling immature pranks?"

And here came the lecture. I assure you that what I was doing honestly wasn't dangerous. It was just stinky… and disgusting. If Butch and Wally didn't want stink bombs in their bedrooms, then they shouldn't have replaced the shampoo that I bought with _red hair dye._ I went from being a brunette to a red-head in a thirty minute shower, and I wasn't entertained. Besides, how was I supposed to know that my father would be patrolling the vault corridors at two in the morning when he should have been sleeping? He just had a weird way of always knowing where I went.

"Dad, I promise you that they did it first. They replaced the shampoo with hair dye!" Dad raised his eyebrows at me. "Is that how you got that new look?"

"I loved my hair; I wouldn't have done this on my own." He let an exhausted smile onto his face. "You kids and your pranks." He then shook his head. "That doesn't change anything, Em. You know that you don't fight fire with fire. You fight back smarter. If you pull pranks on Butch and Wally all of the time then you'll just be letting them know that it's getting to you, and do you know what they will do? They'll continue pranking you."

I sighed and put my face into my hands. "Yes, I know, Dad." He moved closer to me and rested his hand on my shoulder. "I know that you're mature enough to avoid doing silly things like pranking others." He removed my hands from my face and tipped my chin up with one finger. "You know, the red doesn't look that bad on you. It's a nice change of pace, if you ask me." Placing a kiss on my head, he told me to go to bed since it was late. I nodded and waited for him to leave the room before I went to the bathroom.

Entering the bathroom, I placed myself in front of a sink. Twisting my head from left to right, I tried to get used to seeing myself as a red-head. I wasn't lying to my father. I really did love my hair. There were so many rules and regulations in the vault, but there were no rules about hair. I wasn't a particularly feminine person – that was a word used to describe Susie or Christine. I didn't worry about boys all that much, and I wasn't really concerned about my weight (Amata worried about that enough for the both of us). However, I did love my hair. It was long and soft, and I could do whatever I wanted with it. Whenever I had enough time in the mornings, I would take a curling iron to it. Maybe my hair didn't seem that important to other people, but I liked it very much, and it had irritated me greatly that Butch or Wally would even dare to mess with my hair.

The next morning I woke up very determined. After making myself presentable, I marched over to Butch's apartment and rung his doorbell. After a few moments, Butch opened his door. It was obvious that he wasn't fully awake yet: his hair wasn't slick with pomade, he wasn't wearing his Tunnel Snakes jacket, and he seemed a little groggy, yet he still managed to have a smirk on his face when he saw my hair. Trying to make this visit as least awkward as possible, I said, "Are you going to let me in?" I made sure to put a friendly smile on my own face. Still smirking, Butch gestured to the inside of his apartment. I walked in as the sound of the door closing shut reached my ears and I couldn't help but praise Butch's apartment. Butch had finally gotten his own place on account of him turning eighteen, and I thought that the place would reek of booze, but it was surprisingly clean and fresh.

When I turned around, Butch looked about ready to burst. Irritation flooded me, but I pushed it down. However, that didn't stop my mouth from turning into a grim line. Crossing my arms over my chest, I declared, "I know that you were involved in my new hair job." Butch then let his face bust into a full grin. "Yeah? How'd you know that?" I cocked my head to the side and glared at him. "Other than Mrs. Rose, you would be the only one with access to any hair dye, and I know that Mrs. Rose wouldn't pull pranks on young vault residents such as me." I was confident in my statement - Mrs. Rose was practically senile. Butch nodded, and laughter was practically dancing in his eyes. "I see. I can tell that you ain't here to kill me, so what'd you want?"

"I want proper hair products for this cheap dye job. I don't want my hair to lose its softness just because you decided to ruin it."

After Butch had fixed his hair and put on his jacket, he walked me over to the vault salon. It was still too early for many people to be up and about, but it was the perfect time for people who did go to work today to start opening up. Mrs. Rose had retired since Butch took over the hairstyling job, so Butch was allowed to walk through the halls with me without suspicion. He was currently washing my hair as I was lying on a rather soft leather chair. "You're gonna need to use this every time you shampoo and condition. It's made 'specially for dyed hair." Even though I was unusually close to Butch, I felt very relaxed. I was very close to falling asleep until Butch slid his hands down to the nape of my neck and began to massage. An involuntary shiver danced down my spine. Butch just so happened to notice this and chuckle.

He turned off the shower head and reached for a towel. He had begun to wring out the water from my hair gently when he started to straddle me. I could feel myself tense up at the unwelcome and warm contact. Butch then stopped wringing the water out of my hair and instead gripped the side of my face and pressed his lips to my forehead. Oh no. If Butch kept up the close distance and the heat, and _oh god_, the kisses, I'm going to start blushing and I _cannot_ start doing that in front of Butch. I don't need him to start thinking that all of the passes that he's made to me over the years were working. "Butch," was my faint protest to his actions before Butch lowered his head to my nose and then my lips. The kiss was almost chaste until he lingered there for a moment before he flicked his tongue against my bottom lip and pulled back with a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Y'know," he whispered. "You can't come and wake a guy up early in the morning, then follow him to a dimly-lit, secluded room and _not_ expect things like this to happen." He leaned down and nipped at my lips again. "And if we were to get caught," another kiss to my lips, "people might start to think things." A bite to my bottom lip. "Imagine what everyone else would think." As my mind begun to ponder on these very things, Butch lowered his head down to my neck, and I let out a startled gasp. He pulled back with a smile and loosened his hands from my hair – _when had he laced his hands through my hair?_ - before reaching for towel that he had left near the sink. While he was drying my hair, I couldn't help but notice that my hands had a death-grip on the armrests of the chair.

When Butch was done, he put away the towel. I sat up hesitantly. He turned around and pressed two bottles into my arms. "Free of charge." I nodded and rushed to the exit before Butch called after me. "Shift! Y'know, you look kinda cute with red hair." My cheeks felt like they were on fire. "I'd check the shampoo though. I might have put some green hair dye in there." I could almost hear his wink.

When I got back home, I did check the bottles. There was no hair dye – just normal shampoo and conditioner.

* * *

_Please review, and all of that assorted mess._


	7. Chapter 5: Connection

Because I have to, I do not own Fallout 3 or any of its characters. Unfortunately.

**Chapter 5  
**Connection  
_(Butch's POV)_

Shift's never gonna admit it, but I know she's starting to get restless, and it's my fault, really. She'll never say it out loud 'cause she'll feel guilty, but I know that it's true.

When we went to the doc in Megaton after we raided Super-Duper Mart – and _Jesus_, Shift refused to let go of me the entire way back – he patched me up and put me in sling. Luckily, the bill wasn't too hefty since the wound was pretty weak, but I did need a month and a half to recover.

Shift hid it pretty well the first two weeks, but I guess even the best of liars have to stop putting on a front eventually. She was pretty set on finding her old man, and my injury put her plans on hold. I've tried to tell her to go without me, but she always refuses the idea.

She keeps herself busy by going outside of Megaton every now and then and running errands for caps. Sometimes I force her to take me with her, just because I hate feelin' useless, but she never takes me anywhere that'll be too dangerous since I can't hold a weapon. We've gotten a fair amount of caps since we came here, and we've even scored ourselves a house. It's a shabby house at best, but we're in the wasteland where standards are pretty much nonexistent, so we're okay with it. Plus, we got in for free in exchange for defusing the bomb in the middle of the town. Oh man, she was hilarious, struggling to defuse the bomb while I told her what wires to connect and which ones to cut. It was almost pitiful, watching her break into a sweat at the thought of blowing up the town.

Shift has brought some stuff to spruce up the house. She's gotten covers, two pillows, and an old blanket for the bed upstairs, and she's gotten a couch and a small coffee table for the living room downstairs. Deciding on the sleep arrangements was awkward. Shift blushed at the idea of sharing a bed with me – not that I can blame her, I never thought I'd ever see a day when I could say that I share a house with Shift, much less a bed – and she didn't want to squeeze into a small bed with me because she was afraid that she would hurt my shoulder in her sleep. Eventually she opted for the couch in the living room until she could find another mattress for her to sleep on.

But that was the beginning, and now I'm about a month into my recovery. She's gotten tired of running errands, so she's been hanging around the house a little more often than usual. Usually she takes care of things that I can't do myself, but right now she's sitting across the couch from me reading a magazine. She hasn't said one word since this morning, and the silence is killing me. "Shift."

She cocks an eyebrow, but she doesn't stop looking at the magazine. "Yeah?"

"You need a haircut." I wasn't lying. Shift's hair was getting longer than usual. She paused from flipping the pages in her magazine, and her hand moved to tug on a lock of her hair. "Maybe."

"Can I cut it?" She nods in the direction of my arm, which is in a sling. "I coulda taken my arm out of this sling ages ago." I scoff. Shift looks from me and her magazine before she sighs and moves to get off the couch. "I'll get the scissors and the brush." I smirk and remove the sling from my arm, testing its ability to move. My shoulder is still sore, but I won't have to move my arm too much as long as Shift keeps still. The only thing that I'll have to move it for is to hold her hair.

When she's back, Shift sits on the couch with her back facing me. I reach forward to pull her hair towards me so that it falls down her back. I'll never admit it out loud, but I enjoyed being a barber. There was something calming about it, and hair turned out to be one of the few things that people actually trusted me with. It was settling to work with hair again. "Not too short," Shift says apprehensively. I grin at that. Shift's always liked her hair long, and ever since I pranked her by putting dye in her shampoo she hasn't exactly trusted me to handle her hair without messing it up on purpose.

"Remember when I put that red dye in your hair?" Feeling Shift tense as I brushed her hair, my grin only grew wider. "It's a shame that you dyed your hair brown again. I wasn't lyin' when I said that you looked cute with red hair." Shift stayed silent, and I knew exactly what she was thinking about: the morning that she came to me to get hair products. It was the first time that we kissed, or more I kissed her and she ran away as quickly as possible. But I won't pretend I didn't see her blush or the way that she shivered when I touched her.

Time passed quickly. The feeling of handling scissors was so natural and comforting, especially in such a strange environment. Shift's hair fell onto the couch, but I'm not focused on cleaning up the mess. I find myself brushing her hair, over and over again.

I also find myself wanting to kiss her. It's been two years since our last kiss, and I want to know if her lips are still as soft as they were. I want to know if Shift would still freeze up and shake if I kiss her, or if she would kiss back.

Before I could stop myself, I dropped the brush onto the couch and placed my hands on her waist, gently pulling her back. Shift places her hands on top of my mine and shoves them back onto the couch. "Two more weeks," she says. The words seem more like she's sayin' them to herself then to me, and they break the silence, so it throws me off.

"What?"

"Two more weeks until we can go back out and start searching again." Shift says, her voice rising, almost as if she didn't even realize that she said it out loud. I'm still thinking about kissing her, so the statement threw me off. "Yeah, yeah, right." Shift moves off of the couch almost defensively, as if she's trying to put an invisible barrier between the two of us.

I sigh before I remember that I have a reminder of my own to give her. "Alone." Shift gives me a confused look. "Two weeks alone with each other until we can go back out."

Her sigh is laughable.

* * *

If you're still reading this, then, what are you even doing? This story is a billion years old, and I have no excuse for not updating. Life happens, I guess? Either way, I apologize (if anyone was even waiting on this story anymore). Even if no body is reading this,  
guess what? I'm still going to post chapters. I don't know why, but I just feel compelled to finish this story no matter how many writer's blocks I hit (and you wouldn't believe how long it took me to write this chapter, fucking writer's block.) Anyways...

_Please review, and all of that assorted mess._


	8. Flashback 2: Bruises

Because I have to, I do not own Fallout 3 or any of its characters. Unfortunately.

**Flashback 2  
**Bruises  
_(Shift's POV)_

I was a hot-tempered kid, okay? I hate admitting it, but I was.

For example, when I was six, Amata and I went to the Vault's cafeteria after class. They were serving chocolate pudding, a dish that was only sold on Friday.

Chocolate pudding was my weakness at that age. That was like currency to us, especially since no kid really had money then. Deals and favors were usually settled over that brown, creamy gold, and usually someone had to give up their bowl of pudding in order to get someone's new comic or toy.

Knowing this and seeing Wally and Butch at the bar in the cafeteria with their backs to the entrance, Amata and I shuffled quickly to get our bowls and find a seat far from the boys. Luckily, this was just before Paul had begun hanging out with them, so their gang wasn't created yet, but the boys were still vicious bloodhounds, waiting for some poor victim to cross paths with them. Amata and I were definitely not going to be those victims. Although only six, we were wise about their bullying and how to avoid them. We picked the booth behind them where they wouldn't see us without turning their head, which would be a sure enough warning to high-tail out of the cafeteria.

Unfortunately, Wally had eyed us when he had heard footsteps, and surely enough, within minutes, Butch and Wally had navigated themselves into the booth next to ours. Butch had his back to us, but I could see Wally's eyes, which seemed to be absolutely devilish in that moment. Amata had her back to both of them, so I was fearful for her, for she could not see any of their movements. Naturally, I was her look out.

Amata laughed in an attempt to ease the tension, but her face was uncomfortable. "I wish there were more booths in here…" Amata whispered, and I could sense her weariness. I smiled at her and got a spoonful of pudding in my mouth before saying, "I wish there was another cafeteria." I faked a smile as I swallowed my pudding down, hoping to raise Amata's mood. I allowed myself a chuckle when Amata broke into a smile. I guess even when we were little I was always braver in the face of danger, but that was alright with me. I was Amata's protector, and she was the one person that I could tolerate in the vault besides my father. Our friendship worked well.

Despite trying to comfort Amata, I was on alert. Wally was eye-balling the back of Amata's head, and Butch was reaching for a napkin. Before I would even alert Amata, a napkin was flying at her head. It was just a napkin, so Amata wasn't too worried until she reached her hand to the back of her head. Immediately her eyes started to water. I waited quietly, trying not to open my mouth for the fear of saying something that would only spur the boys on.

When Amata showed me her hands, it was obvious what had happened. Wally, the dick that he was even at eight years old, had put a spoonful of pudding inside of the napkin. It had unraveled at its impact with Amata's head, and now Amata had chocolate pudding in her hair. I could see the tears beginning to gather in Amata's eyes. I tried to silently communicate with her and tell her not to cry because that would only make Wally more satisfied with his work, but it was useless. Amata let out a whimper, and Wally let out a satisfied howl.

Andy, Stanley's robot who did many jobs in the vault, but mostly served in the kitchen when someone wasn't available, hadn't realized what all of the commotion was about. He was loudly playing music from his back speakers, and could barely hear us. He only paused in his work momentarily before continuing on with his cleaning, turning his back to us.

The lack of punishment for Wally, his laughter, and Amata's tears sent me jumping up from the booth with my bowl in my hand. I was seeing red, having a "fit" as my father would call it, and nothing would stop me from doing whatever rash thing I was hell-bent on doing.

By this time, Wally was laughing so hard that he was squeezing out tears, and Butch was smirking along with him. Wally was too distracted to notice me, but Butch was not. His eyes widened before he could grab my hand to stop me. I slammed the bowl into Wally's face, dumping my dear chocolate pudding on to him.

There was a brief moment were everything went really slowly. Amata, Butch, and I were all shocked; our mouths were open at what I had done. I had not planned that action, and now I was afraid of its consequence. Wally, on the other hand, was still. I would have thought that he was dead if he had not been breathing so heavily.

Slowly, Wally reached for another napkin, and then another, and another. No one stopped him. I found it impossible to move from my spot. Wally carefully wiped his face free of pudding, and at last I had realized why Wally was so upset and still. I had smashed my bowl into his face so hard that it was bleeding. I probably had broken it. Despite my fear, in that moment, I had hoped that his nose would be crooked for the rest of his life.

Suddenly, without warning, Wally leaped at me. The only thing that saved my life was, surprisingly, Butch. He had predicted Wally's actions and pushed me out of the way, sending me crashing onto the floor. Butch held Wally down despite him being rather puny at his age. All the while, Butch was screaming, "Wally, we don't hit girls!"

I leaped up from the floor and looked at Amata. I yelled at her to get my father. I was scared that Butch, who, at this moment, was my protector instead of my bully, would be seriously injured during this fight. Butch was brave and nobler than Wally, but Wally was sizable and strong for an eight year old. I could only watch in horror as Amata smartly fled the scene.

Butch looked back for a short moment and yelled, "What are you doing? Go away!" I could see that he was bleeding from his lip.

During this fight, Andy had heard the crashes and punches from Wally's and Butch's fight, and had turned around. With one mechanical hand, Andy reached forward and grabbed the back of Wally's vault suit, allowing Butch to scramble off of him while Wally was held back.

Without warning, Butch grabbed my wrist and rushed me through the entrance of the cafeteria. "We need to get out of here," Butch said, shortly explaining to me as we turned a corner before stopping. Butch looked at me, and I could only focus on his bleeding lip. "Where do we go from here?" I pointed down a hallway which I knew lead to the Atrium of the vault. Jonas had warned me not to go down there without an adult guide, but this was a dangerous situation. "Down there." I said, adrenaline pumping in my veins.

Butch once again grabbed my wrist and led me down the stairs and through the door, all the while checking behind us for Wally. We ended up in the storage room, which was eerily silent and filled with metal and wooden boxes. Butch closed the door behind us. He took a few deep breaths before turning as me and yelling, "What'd you do that for, nose bleed!"

I was taken back. Just a few moments ago Butch had been my savior, but now I was shaking, cold, tired, near tears, and face to face with the typical Butch the Bully. Stumbling over my words, and trying to be as articulate as only a six year old could be, I said, "Dealing with your friend, W-Wally the Worst, you bug-eyed b-bully." That was the best insult I could come up with at that age. Butch was kind of an ugly kid, and his eyes did seem to bug out sometimes.

Butch laughed at me. "_Wally the Worst?_ Are you joking? That's the worst insult I've ever heard!" At this point, I was crying. The violence of the whole situation had caught up with me, and Butch's taunting was not helping my mood. I fell onto the floor and scooted my way up against the only wall without any boxes against it.

I couldn't see Butch since I had my face buried between my knees, but I heard his sigh and his steps approaching me. He stopped right in front of me. "Kid," he started. He was only a year older than me, but that was a million years older to kids our age, and the fact that I was crying made me seem even younger.

I looked up, my face fresh with tears and my nose sniffling. "You cold?" I slowly nodded my head, wondering why Butch was changing personalities so quickly. Butch shrugged off his jacket and gave it to me. I slid it onto my shoulders, but I never put my arms into it.

Butch sat beside me, and for the first time I could see the bruise beginning to form over his left eye. I felt guilty for insulting him. Despite his rudeness, he had stopped Wally from hitting me, and he had sacrificed his face to do so. I said the only thing that I could in that moment. "I'm sorry about your eye."

Butch didn't blink. He didn't even reply. He just glanced at me before looking forward. I did the same. There was a comfortable silence between us, and we stayed like that until my father found us.

* * *

To be honest, this chapter did not go the way that I expected it to... it had a whole different plot, but, before I knew it, I had Shift throwing pudding into Wally's face... yeah, she had(?) some anger issues. I just couldn't stop myself from finishing the chapter once I had gotten to that point, and it's super late, and I actually have somewhere to go tomorrow so I should be going to sleep extremely soon... All of that being said, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I only read over it once (I felt obligated to post this since I hadn't posted in so long), so if you are reading and notice any errors (spelling, grammar, continuity, what have you) please inform me via message or review. I hope that you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. And,

_Please review, and all of that assorted mess._


	9. Chapter 6: Night Watch

Because I have to, I do not own Fallout 3 or any of its characters. Unfortunately. Shift, however, is entirely my property.

**Chapter 6  
**Night Watch  
_(Shift's POV)_

I don't trust Butch. I'm not trying to be mean or anything - I mean, the guy is my "partner" and all now - but to say that I'm comfortable around him would be going too far. I haven't trusted Butch since we were kids; his bullying towards Amata and I welded the iron wall between us.

Keeping that in mind, these past couple of weeks have been strenuous. Butch constantly switches between being a jerk to being seemingly humane. Yes, Butch has definitely fixed his rebellious attitude. He's helping me find my father, and he took a bullet for me, which I don't think I'll ever be able to return the favor for, yet I can't find it within myself to trust him. Between him pulling that waist-grabbing-stunt two weeks ago and his crude teasing, I find myself creating a barrier. Sure, I trust the guy with my life because he appears to trust me with his (and I don't really have another choice as far as loyal companions go, do I?), but as far as my emotions go? I don't even want to revisit that hell hole of possibilities.

I lean my head back against the wooden wall that acts as our shelter. It was already well into the afternoon when Butch and I left Megaton, so we were only able to make it a little past Super Duper Mart before night fell. We took shelter in some makeshift shelter under the nearby bridge, complete with some grenades and a gritty mattress.

The very person who plagues my thoughts lay peacefully slumbering a few inches away from me. Butch had briefly argued with me about who would stay up and act as the night watch, but I had weakly convinced him that I was too energized to sleep, any how. As revenge, Butch asserted that I wear his jacket "for warmth," but he smirked as he said it, tipping me off that he only wanted me to wear it because I venomously hated the damn thing. Still, I couldn't pass up any protection from the chilly night air, so I reluctantly agreed. I feel kind of bad, though; I can see that Butch is slightly shivering. The guy did just spend a month and a half in a sling because he took a bullet that could just as easily could have hit me. Crawling over silently as to not wake up Butch, I lay the jacket over him. His body quickly relaxes under the new warmth.

I allow myself to observe Butch, who looks unnaturally peaceful and innocent. He typically sports a sly grin or an irate grimace, but he looks almost serene when he sleeps. For some indescribable reason, I swell with adoration. I immediately struggle to repress the emotion, but it floods me. In frustration, I bury my face into my palms and groan. At the same time, an eyebot passes by, blaring obnoxiously loud music. The combined noises wake Butch up.

His serene expression is lost. It is instead replaced by a confused, sleepy one, which is something that I am both remorseful and joyous for. Butch squints his eyes as he takes in his environment. His eyes lock on me, and I know that I look like a deer in headlights because he woke up just as I was having an emotional breakdown. "Are... you okay?" He whispers. I clear my throat, creating a blank expression on my face. "Yeah, the music just frightened me." Butch nodded, accepting my answer.

By taking a second to remind myself to calm down, I miss the fact that Butch has taken notice of his jacket. "You're supposed to be wearin' this, not me," he pointedly states. Guilt washes over me, and I, once again, find myself in a battle with emotions.

I am an adult, who just so happens to be traveling with my childhood bully. He is not my parent. He is not my commander. He is not even really my _friend_. Why do I feel bad for not following an order? Why is he concerned for my well being? He doesn't even _like_ me, for heavens sake. Most importantly, _where the hell are all of these emotions coming from?_

I'm too busy arguing with myself to notice it, but Butch stands up from the mattress and stands beside me. "Go to sleep. I'll take over."

His additional command infuriates me even more, and just as I'm about to ignite a screaming match, I look up at Butch. I expected to find a stern, impatient Butch, but I instead find a very patient and very calm Butch. His eyes are still hooded, revealing his sleepiness. Looking into his expression, I find myself mirroring his emotions, because yes, I am exhausted from staying up and debating with myself, and sleep would definitely be the solution for both of those issues.

It's for that reason that I allow Butch to take my place, that I crawl on top of the mattress, relishing in Butch's left over heat, that I don't mind Butch throwing his jacket over me, that I fall asleep without suspicion, regardless of the fact that Butch observes me in my final moments of consciousness.

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Short chapter is short, but I felt like publishing something, even if it does seem a bit like a drabble to me. Just a quick reminder that although I'm shitty at updating, I love this story and everyone that keeps up with it. You can't see it, but I'm sending virtual kisses to all of you. Muah.

P.S. I would _love_ if anyone could point out any continuity errors if you find any. It's been a while since I've updated, and I didn't really feel like taking the time to read over the chapters again.

_Please review, and all of that assorted mess._


	10. Chapter 7: A Good Heart

Because I have to, I do not own Fallout 3 or any of its characters. Unfortunately. Shift, however, is entirely my property.

**Chapter 7  
**A Good Heart  
_(Shift's POV)_

Lying is easy. Persuading is, truly, difficult. When you lie, someone can doubt you but never push the subject. When you persuade, the person must be thoroughly convinced to agree.

Everyone assumes that both trades come easily to me. Sometimes they do. Most of the time, they don't. I'm only seasoned because of practice and, well, natural talent. Whereas Amata couldn't lie to save her life, I could deceive without blinking an eye from a young age. Of course, my excuses were juvenile, and my skills didn't develop tremendously until I was a teenager and found myself in more devious activities... but I'm digressing.

I usually choose between two different strategies when I persuade: intimidation or sympathy. Somehow, neither of these strategies seemed like they would work on Three Dog. He seems pretty cozy in his set-up while he's being protected by Brotherhood soldiers, so he would probably laugh in my face if I ever threatened him. Plus, he's somehow heard of my deeds around Megaton, so I can't convince him that I'm some young, scared girl, especially when I'm traveling with Butch, who, although he has lost some weight, still looks like he could take someone in a fist fight. I look pretty rugged myself; living in the Wasteland has provided me with a layer of grime that I can't seem to get rid of, a tan that proves I've definitely been outside for extended amounts of time, and weapons that could slay someone from a considerable distance. In short, we look like a force to be reckoned with.

No, neither of those strategies will work, so I have to find one that will. Although we've merely exchanged introductions, Three Dog's invitation to sit down in his office tipped me off that he wants to have a long discussion with me, so I wouldn't doubt that he knows about my father and my intentions.

My plan hits me as I'm chewing on my nails, waiting for Three Dog to return with his homemade tea. Three Dog has something that I want, so I have to convince him that I have something he wants. More than likely, he'll attempt to make me go out on this big journey, but that's not necessary if I have something in the works, is it?

Three Dog is walking into the room, so I breathe in and mentally prepare myself to wing this discussion.

He flashes us a winning smile as he hands us cups and sits in his chair, rolling in front of us. I take a polite sip, smiling back. Butch does the same but grimaces, and I hold back a chuckle. Living with him has confirmed for me that the only liquids Butch consumes on a regular basis is water and liquor, not necessarily in that order. I just hope that Three Dog doesn't notice his expression because I hope to be on his good side if it means finding Dad.

His fingers drum on the arms of the chair, and I must look expectant because he laughs. "Kid, it doesn't take a mind reader to see that you're looking for your dad." I perk up, ready to say something, but he continues. "He was here. We had a really good conversation - he's a pretty alright guy." Considering that he already interrupted me, I sat back, waiting for him to keep on. He doesn't. Instead, he raises his eyebrows and suggests that I should help the "Good Fight," whatever that is, if I want to know more information.

I sigh and set my elbows on my knees, my fingers interlacing with one another. "I promise you that if I find my dad, I'll be much more useful to you than I am right now. You've met him, so I don't have to tell you how intelligent he is. He'll be able to offer help that would go beyond my capabilities, especially right now." Three Dog looks doubtful, his eyebrows pulled together as if by a string. He's thinking. I feel satisfaction swell within me because making the person consider your idea is the key step in persuasion. Just for good measure, I add, "_Please._ It's been weeks since I've seen my father." Perfect. First you appeal to logic, then emotion. My voice must have choked because Butch lays a hand on the small of my back, and the gesture feels so foreign and intimate and so not a part of my plan that I almost lose the distressed expression on my face. However, a quick glance to Butch's face hints that he knows the angle I'm playing at, and he is apparently joining me. His face almost carries the same expression as mine, but his eyes are mischievous. He's either making the gesture to add to my performance or throw me off - either way, I'm not sure how I feel about it._  
_

Regardless of the mishap, Three Dog looks as if he's giving in. I give myself a mental high five for succeeding. "So, you really think that he'll help the Good Fight?" I nod earnestly, "I know he will. My father is a better person than I'll ever be - he'd definitely be willing to assist the Good Fight if it holds as much merit as you think." I'm not lying when I say that. Maybe my dad's main goal isn't the Good Fight, but he's certainly more selfless than I'll ever be. I don't know where I got my "fend for yourself" attitude from because I doubt my mother was like me, but I know I'll never be like my father.

Three Dog lets out a sigh. "Your dad and I talked about a lot of things, but he mentioned something about 'Project Purity' and going to Rivet City to talk to Doctor Li." I've never heard of "Project Purity" or Doctor Li, but I've heard of Rivet City from traveling merchants. Apparently, it's a big, floating ship from the pre-war times that's very popular for trading. Still, I can't imagine living on a boat if it's anything like I've read in books. "Where's Rivet City?" Three Dog gives us some pretty vague directions, and I can see Butch fervently punching in something to his Pip-Boy out of the corner of my eye.

We all exchange farewells - I make a point to be very grateful towards Three Dog, even flashing him by best, practiced smile - before Butch and I proceed down the stairs and into the entrance of the building.

We're only outside for a few seconds before I'm yanking Butch's arm towards me. "Hey! _Hey! _Whaddya want, spazz?" I activate and flicker through his Pip-Boy. "What were you doing back there?"

Butch scoffs, "Just takin' some notes, alright?" Looking at his map and notes confirms his words. He's typed out some things and even created a marker on his map according to Three Dog's instructions. My grip on his arm loosens; I feel a little guilty for somewhat interrogating Butch when he was just making an effort to help me. I immediately retract my arms and slide one up my neck and into my hair, the other fiddling with a belt loop on my hip. "Sorry." A few awkward seconds pass between us. "And thanks... for, y'know, helping me find my dad. I know that I haven't been exactly.. _open_ lately, but I appreciate the effort." Butch looks a little surprised at my sudden apology but doesn't make any moves to politely deny my distant behavior. He only grunts. That's one thing I always admired about Butch - he's always honest, even if you don't care that much for his opinion.

Butch looks off into the wreckage while I copy his marker onto my own Pip-Boy. I'm briefly distracted, trying very hard to copy Butch's coordinates exactly, when he speaks. "You should give yourself more credit." I am startled, so my finger slips across the screen, sending my marker straight across the map. However, Butch's words confuse me too much to be upset. "What?" Butch sighs before he speaks as if what he's about to say is a big chore. "You're right. You're not the doc or anythin', but you've got..." He trails off, picking his words carefully, "a good heart." I think back to my conversation with Three Dog, and when I register what he means, I can feel the blush invading my cheeks. "Thanks," I muster.

After I finally finish setting up my Pip-Boy, we set off without another word.

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_Please review, and all of that assorted mess._


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